


Son of a...

by MotherInLore



Series: So, I Guess my Muse wants Marvel, now... [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Canons are for Confetti, F/M, Fluff, SHIP DARCY LEWIS WITH ALL THE THINGS, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-27
Updated: 2018-04-27
Packaged: 2019-04-28 16:56:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14453721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MotherInLore/pseuds/MotherInLore
Summary: Sam's Words are pretty unfortunate.  But it turns out context is everything.





	Son of a...

Sam scanned the gym as Carmen went through her usual introductory speech. He spotted two mother-daughter pairs, three white girls in Culver sweatshirts: one giggly, one grim, and a slightly older, shorter one whose mood was harder to read, a couple of women in their sixties, one of them in full makeup and earrings above her workout clothes, and a handful of women clustered around Aisha from the shelter, who all had the skittish, beaten-down look that suggested that they had signed up for a self-defense class because of a known, rather than a theoretical threat. He'd keep a half an eye on them, but this was Carmen's show, not his, and his job was actually to be as unthreatening as possible while still giving them all something to work with. Having some big guy in camo pants and an army tee-shirt try to calm them down would be the very last thing likely to help at least some of them. He smiled and waved as Carmen introduced him and Derek and Miguel. “These guys volunteered to be the tackle dummies today,” she told the class. “They expect to go home with bruises tonight. You do not need to hold back on them, you do not need to be afraid you'll make them angry. I want you to practice each move we learn today on at least two of them, and all three if there's time. Each of them puts out a slightly different vibe, and your own reactions may be different too.” She talked some more about the day's agenda, and what to do if something felt triggering, and then everyone got into places for the first exercise, one a surprising number of women had trouble with. 

“Be as loud as you want,” Carmen reminded them. “Louder. It lets everyone around you know you need help, and it lets the guy know he messed with the wrong chick. If you don't feel safe, you don't need to be polite.” So Sam walked slowly toward the first student in his line while she shouted, “BACK OFF! BACK OFF! BACK OFF!” and then turned and ran to the end of Miguel's line. Some of the students had to be reminded to shout. One or two couldn't manage anything more than “No,” in a tone barely louder than conversational, but you had to start somewhere. Someone in one of the other lines was getting creative. “GET OUTTA MY FACE, BEETLEJUICE McCREEPERSON!” Someone else giggled – probably Tall Culver Girl. When, a couple minutes later, the same voice accused Derek of being “A SMARMY ELF-LICKER,” Sam glanced sideways and saw Little Culver Girl skipping her way to the end of his line. He waited with some eagerness to see what she had in store for him.

She had training already, he thought as he walked toward her. Her hands came up to the defensive position without being reminded, and she kept her weight grounded even as she moved backward. She glared up at him through a pair of striking blue eyes and shouted, “STAY THE HELL AWAY FROM ME, YOU SON OF A PUSTULE!”

Sam huffed a startled laugh. Of all the times... but he couldn't disrupt the class with his own drama. Little Culver stepped wrong and fell backward over the edge of a mat, but had rolled herself up to her feet before Sam could offer her a hand. Tall Culver laughed, too. “Way to go, Darce!” And Little Culver bounced her way back to Miguel's line for the next lesson. 

Sam kept an eye on her, after that. Darce, who'd said his Words. Had he said anything to her yet? Sometimes he'd ask someone if they were ready before he started moving; he couldn't remember if he'd done so for her or not. If he'd said anything, it wouldn't have been anything out of the ordinary. She didn't know, and he wasn’t going to tell her until after class. Sam made sure, after that, to communicate with her nonverbally, though. If he hadn’t said anything yet, he wanted a chance for her Words to be better than his had been.

Darce went through the next two lessons with the same all-in dedication, with the same smile hiding somewhere behind her eyes. She cheered and whistled for Tall Culver and Middle Culver; he got the impression that she was here primarily to make sure they attended, since Carmen’s lessons mostly got a brief nod at the beginning of a demonstration, after which Darce went back to watching her friends. As she cycled through the lines, she left Sam with bruises under his ribs and on his thighs where she'd grabbed the skin and rolled it under her nails, more bruises and a strained finger from the chokehold escape, and a swollen ear she'd grabbed in the getting-out-of-a-corner maneuver. She was certainly not holding back. This training wasn't new to her, but she was taking it seriously. Good. Because if she was his soulmate... Sam's life was not exactly risk-free.

Sam didn't see her at first in the last lesson of the day – getting out from under what Carmen called “mount position” – and then he did. His soulmate had, somewhere along the line, tied her sweatshirt around her valentine hips and revealed a black tee shirt that declared, gnomically, “I Rell Vatch.” She hung back from the lines, holding up a water bottle to Tall Culver, the giggly one, who looked shaky and green around the gills. Darce seemed to be talking her down from whatever dark place she'd gone to. _So she's got a smart mouth, knows at least a little about how to handle herself, and takes care of her people. I am a lucky, lucky man._ Lucky, too, that Darce was busy helping her friend and wasn't going to make it to Sam's line for this one – practicing escape techniques for an attempted rape, with your soulmate – who you hadn't talked with yet – yeah, that was... that was just a big hell, no, right there. _Mind on the job, Wilson._ He turned to the next woman in his line. “You ready?”

 

*****

Ceecee had calmed down again by the time Carmen brought the last exercise to an end and gathered everyone into one big group again. Darcy could see her friend felt better, even her last freak-out hadn't been too bad. Darcy knew she herself was keyed up from practice-fighting for three hours; bodies could be stupid that way, and hers, now that she was no longer pretending her life was in danger, wanted food and maybe sex. (Who was she kidding; she'd wanted sex most of this week. All three of the volunteer tackle-dummies had looked hot to her, which was so not appropriate except it kind of was, because as Carmen had pointed out, some of these things were more likely to come from an intimate partner than a stranger.) Anyway. Ceecee. Looking much better. Shoulders back, head up, all that good stuff. And Brit had done fine, too, and Darcy had had a pretty good time, really, because she'd gotten training after New Mexico and again after London, but it wasn't exactly riding a bicycle. Practice good, right? Ceecee went up to Carmen after the class to ask a couple of questions about specific situations and Brit headed to the locker room to shower. Darcy, waiting for Ceecee, noticed Tackle-dummy Three – Sam? Sam. She was pretty sure it was Sam – sort of hover-lurking at the edge of the conversation, like he maybe wanted Carmen for something.

“Hey,” she said, and he jerked a little bit, as if he hadn't noticed she was there, except he totally had to have known she was there. “I, um, just wanted to say thanks for letting us beat up on you?”

He smiled. (Oh, Thor, that smile. She wanted to put that smile in the same drawer as her Hitachi magic wand; it would probably work faster. And she didn't even have her glasses on; just imagine if she could see it clearly.) “I'm glad to do it,” he said, “and I just wanted to say, I'm so very glad that this was the context you said my Words in, 'cause that could have gone a lot worse.”

Darcy couldn't think of a thing to say. Not a thing. “Words,” she repeated numbly.

“Mm-hm. Not very easy ones to carry around, but I guess they helped me learn to keep my head around people who... might not be having such a great day, and _that's_ sure come in handy.”

“Um,” said Darcy. Because she could totally keep her head and have a smart remark ready no matter what had just happened. Totally. She could do that. His-smile-his-shoulders-his-eyes-his- _smile!_

“Just checking,” her soulmate said, “You don't really think I'm a 'son of a pustule,' do you now?”

“No.” Darcy shook her head emphatically. “No, you are not. You are clearly the son of, of someone very special, like possibly a god, because demigods are totally a thing now; they are no longer a metaphor, I tased one once and he wasn't as good-looking as you are. So if you told me you were descended from – what's an awesome god to be descended from? Apollo, maybe? Osiris? Except he was kind of a zombie- never mind. Anyway, I would believe you.”

Sam blinked, his forehead wrinkling slightly. “Miss soulmate, would you happen to be a middle child, by chance?”

“It's Darcy,” said Darcy, “and yeah, sorry. It's obvious, isn't it? With the talking as fast as I can until someone shuts me up and... anyway, I want to get together with you sometime soon and eat food and answer all the first date questions and things, only most first date questions are kind of bullshit so maybe we could talk about real stuff instead? But, not right now because CeeCee still needs me, I think, and we're both all sweaty. Which is a good look on you, don't get me wrong...”

The smile got, if anything, brighter. “Food and real talk sometime soon sounds good, Darcy. How about you swing by the front desk once you and your friend get changed and I'll make sure we get each others' phone numbers?”

“Betcher ass.” Oh, this was going to be fun.

**Author's Note:**

> Darcy's mysterious tee shirt had to beat out some stiff competition; some of the runners up may appear in other fics.


End file.
